


The First Step in Rebuilding

by Janina



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crying, F/M, Grief, much sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 13:20:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7269919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/pseuds/Janina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post battle chat between Jon and Sansa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Step in Rebuilding

It was late, and though Jon was bone tired after the battle, he found he couldn’t sleep. He kept seeing Rickon running to him, kept seeing the arrows go into his body, and then he kept seeing him fall. He relived that moment over and over. How close he was. How if he’d just moved faster, yelled at Rickon not to run in a straight line – if he’d just done something different, just as Sansa had wanted him to do, then maybe their brother would still be alive. 

Then, of course, there was Sansa. The Vale Army showing up, how they’d looked straight at each other when he’d risen from nearly being trampled to death, and knew he could not quit. Fighting for Winterfell, for her, and for Arya and Bran, if they were still alive, was what he needed to do. He could not let Sansa fall prey to Ramsay again. He wouldn’t. He’d made her a promise and he’d meant to keep it. He’d seized in air and his will to fight. 

Sansa, though, had seen to Ramsay’s death. Jon had wanted so badly to kill him and make him suffer. He’d hurt Sansa in ways she should have never been hurt, and he’d killed their brother right before his eyes. He’d deserved to die. But it was Sansa who deserved to do it. 

After that, he hadn’t seen her. The both of them, he imagined, had much to sort out alone. 

But now he didn’t want to be so alone. He wanted to make sure she was all right, and perhaps he found he needed a bit of comfort too.

His sister was not the same girl she’d been before. She was hardened. Bitter. And she didn’t trust him. It was the only reason he could explain why she hadn’t told him about the Vale Army coming in to help. Why she trusted Baelish after all he’d done, Jon didn’t understand. But, he also felt that there was another reason Sansa kept in contact with him. Sansa had proven herself shrewd and several steps ahead of him, thinking of the details while he focused on the big picture. She filled in that picture for him, and made it whole. He needed to listen to her counsel from on. 

Jon climbed out of bed and made his way down the hall to the bedchamber she’d claimed as her own, which, as it turned out, belonged to the woman who had held no love for him when she was alive. 

Before he even knocked on Sansa’s door, he heard the sound of her weeping. Sobbing really. The kind that shook your body and stole your breath. The kind that brought you to your knees. “Sansa,” he said, his voice hoarse from shouting. “May I come in?”

The sobbing stopped and he heard nothing for a bit, and then, “Jon?”

“Aye.”

“Yes, you may come in.”

He pushed the heavy door open and entered, noting the lack of furnishings and other accoutrement that made up a cozy bedchamber. His room had lacked the same, namely because he’d had almost everything that Ramsay Bolton could have touched thrown out of the room. He had no doubt that in time Sansa would have the castle back to its former glory. She’d make it a home again. She’d remind the North that there were Starks once again in Winterfell, of that he had no doubt. 

She was sitting in a chair by the fire, dressed for bed with a heavy robe covering her. She looked at him stoically, her face cleared of all tears despite the fact that her eyes and the tip of her nose were red. “Hello, Jon,” she greeted him. “Can you not sleep either?”

He shook his head. “No, I can’t. I keep…reliving it. You?”

She looked to the fire, back ramrod straight, attempting to hide the tears that gathered at the corners of her eyes. 

“Sansa, you don’t have to hide your tears from me,” he said softly. 

“Are you upset with me for contacting Littlefinger?” she asked, still not looking at him. 

Jon shifted on his feet. His robe fell open, but he made no move to close it. “I want to know why you didn’t tell me he was coming.”

“I didn’t know he was. I asked him for help; I didn’t think he’d give it. Not after the last time I saw him.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. His hand curled into a fist. “When was the last time you saw him? What happened?”

“He came to see me while I was with you at The Wall.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked through clenched teeth. 

“Because I knew you wouldn’t like it, and I wanted to handle him on my own.”

“And how did you handle him?” he demanded. 

“He showed up today with an army, didn’t he?” She laughed softly and bitterly. “Perhaps he has a conscious after all.”

“Do you really believe that?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t. He’ll want something from me.”

“Like what?” He was clenching his teeth again. 

“To either marry me himself, or marry me off to my cousin Robyn Arryn.”

“No.” He was angry now, thinking of Sansa putting herself at Littlefinger’s mercy. “After all he’s done, you owe him nothing Sansa.”

“If I marry Robyn, it would create an alliance—”

“I do not care what it will do, you’re not bloody marrying him, and that’s that!”

Sansa shot up from her chair and faced him, trembling as she pointed at him, her blue eyes wild. “Don’t you dare tell me what I will or will not do, Jon Snow. I’ve had quite enough of men ordering me about and twisting me this way and that. I will do what is right for Winterfell—”

“Us staying together is what’s right for Winterfell. This is our home. When the White Walkers come, we’ll need these walls to keep our people safe. You and I have to stay here. We have to work together. We have to trust each other, Sansa!”

She didn’t bother to hide the tears that welled up. She let them fall freely down her cheeks. “Do you know how much I’ve seen of people lying, cheating, backstabbing, betraying – some within their own family – to get what they want? Just when you think you can trust someone, you learn they were lying to you the whole time to gain an advantage. You know how easily the people you trust can turn against you. Your own brothers killed you, Jon. Have you forgotten?”

“Of course not,” he whispered. 

“Trust is not something I can give easily.”

“I’m your brother.”

“Tyrion is Cersei Lannisters brother and it didn’t stop her from blaming him for Joffrey’s death, and then trying to get him killed. Grief so strong it knocks the wind out of you I can understand. Trying to kill your own kin I cannot. But these are the things that happen in the world. I counted on Robb coming for me and he didn’t. Instead he went and got himself killed because he fancied himself in love.” The last bit was said distastefully, and Jon was reminded yet again how different the girl – no, woman – standing before him was from the girl who had left for King’s Landing in love with Joffrey so long ago. She had believed in happy endings and true love then. Clearly, that was not the case any longer. 

“Besides, you don’t trust me either,” she murmured. 

“I would if you opened up to me. If you were honest with me about certain things.”

“Like Littlefinger.”

He nodded. “Like Littlefinger.”

She nodded once and then looked away, her brows furrowed. She looked as though she was thinking something or trying to gather her wits about her, whatever it was, Jon wanted to give her the space and the freedom to feel what she felt, and say what she wanted. 

She began to sob again as she looked at him. “I’m sorry I’m not the sister you wanted to be reunited with. I’m sorry I’m not Arya or Bran. I’m sorry about Rickon and the battle, and everything I’ve ever done wrong—”

Jon rushed to her and took her in his arms, stopping her from continuing. “You are not to blame for the battle, Sansa. You are not to blame for Rickon. You’ve done nothing wrong. Stop blaming yourself.” He began to stroke her hair as he spoke. “I don’t blame you for any of this. I blame the people like Ramsay and Cersei Lannister. I blame the people who use people like us, like our father. Who would rather have a throne instead of people they can trust and people who love them. We are family, Sansa. That means something.” He pulled back and took her face in his hands. “We are Starks. We know what it means to be a family. We know what it means to take care of one another because we did it once. And now we’ll do it again. I’m not sorry that you’re here and not Bran or Arya.” He looked at her searchingly, willing that to sink, willing her to accept it for the truth that it was. “When I saw you at The Wall, it was relief I felt. And joy. My sister returned to me. I wouldn’t give you up. I won’t. And I wouldn’t trade you for anyone else. I love you, Sansa.”

“I love you, too,” she said. She buried her face in his chest and continued to cry, no doubt needing the release of all that had happened to her since she’d left for King’s Landing. 

Jon cried too, right along with her, as he buried his face in her hair. It felt good to let it out and, he felt, that this was just what they needed to do together. Pain and grief bonded people together. As did allowing yourself to be vulnerable enough to show your pain and grief and to another. 

This was their first step. He had no doubt that as Winterfell would be rebuilt, so too would their relationship.


End file.
